september 2007
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There are a thousand different opinions on the Atlantis expedition and Cameron's never been quite sure which view he's held. The IOA doesn't trust Elizabeth Weir; the SGC almost trusts her; the Chinese don't give a damn who she is as long as she's American and bears the blame for every single thing that might or already has gone wrong on the mission. Cam reads faster than most people would think and he's most of the way through the reports they sent back in the data-burst two years ago; from what he can see, Atlantis isn't the best mission they've ever had but it's certainly not the worst. Over 75% of the initial members are still alive—it's a success if Cam's ever seen one. Of course, Cam never expected to end up going, but then there's the Supergate and the Mark IXs and it doesn't occur to him that when he steps off the Odyssey that he just might end up disappointed after all.
Cam's heard a lot about John Sheppard's team: the SG-1 of the Pegasus galaxy, saving Atlantis twice a week and still coming home for dinner. Cam feels a little un-heroic compared to them; yeah, the Ori are nasty, but back on Earth they've got resources at their disposal to be used immediately, not after a three-week trip on a glorified space boat. It's downright amazing what they've managed to do.
He's heard a lot about John Sheppard, as well: screwed in Afghanistan by an act that would be considered heroic by any standards other than those of the Air Force; banished to Antarctica and then another galaxy. Cam watches him all throughout the briefings, searching for a hint of whatever might drive this man. Instead all he sees is unkempt hair and that lazy, lazy smile, and Cam's not impressed.
"I've heard a lot of things about your team," Sheppard says later, leaning against one of the city's strange, beautiful walls. "They're not all, you know, right in the head, are they?"
"Believe what you will," Cam says. He certainly has.
The first time Sheppard takes Cam flying, Cam's wonder-filled and envious. The jumper (and what a stupid name it is, really) lights up and rises under Sheppard's hands like an extension of his body, like the 302 was an extension of his, up until he crashed it into the ice. Sheppard is like no pilot Cam's ever seen—he ignores the various topographical maps and airspace diagrams, instead half-closing his eyes as he guides the jumper around a forest and surfaces again over the ocean, sparkling and frothing with waves.
"Did I tell you," Sheppard says. "McKay found a whale down there. Well, it wasn't really a whale, it was more like a space whale." He grins at Cam as if sharing some sort of secret. "He called it Sam," Sheppard says, leaning In with a slight wink.
"Wouldn't be the first time," Cam says with a small laugh. Larsen from the Academy named his sidearm after Sam, full of worship for her blonde hair and blue eyes and incredibly daunting intelligence; he hadn't gotten anywhere with her, but it was at least fun to tease the guy. Cam and Sam go farther back than most people realize; he's seen her naked a couple of times—he'd walked in on her and his roommate a couple of times when he'd forgotten to stay out—and if Sam doesn't talk about it anymore, well, then, neither does he. They've made enough mistakes between the both of them to fill a book and then some.
Cam's made it a habit not to get involved with men. He's been tempted, for sure, but most times the temptation simply wasn't strong enough to risk getting kicked out of the SGC or, god forbid, the Force. But Sheppard's in another galaxy—so far away there's none of that ridiculous commitment nonsense. Cam's been in enough long-distance relationships (Annie, Jennifer, Ted, Mary Lou) to know how slim the chances are of it working out, and those were in the same country, not to mention the same planet. Yeah, he gets lonely a lot of the time, but there's the team, and the work, and pretty soon he'll end up forgetting all about it. Until the next time, anyway.
Sheppard skips out of the next meeting with Weir and McKay. Cam only notices when Sam says, "This would be so much easier if he was actually here," and Cam looks up from the flawless Ancient table and sure enough, there's an empty spot where Sheppard ought to be. It must be so routine if Weir and McKay don't even think to say anything; Cam thinks he might have had the right idea—nothing new got discussed, anyway, and Cam could've been sleeping.
He's on his way to the mess for dinner when he spots Vala and Sheppard in another corridor. It seems like they're just talking—though with Vala it's never 'just talking'—but suddenly something changes. Sheppard's dark eyes glitter as he puts his lips to Vala's neck and she lets out that deep throaty chuckle that has brought men to their knees and left entire planets bare.
Cam tells itself it means nothing, that it doesn't matter; and he's still telling himself this in the jumper bay the next morning, waiting for Sheppard to show. He half expects to be stood up; not that he could particularly blame Sheppard, but Cam's known Vala long enough. But ten minutes after eight Sheppard jogs into the room, sleeves rolled to his elbows and smile wider than before.
"I see you've met Vala," Cam says mid-flight, not sure what he expects or even wants the answer to be.
Sheppard just gives him that lazy sideways look. "She's a real woman, all right," Sheppard says with the hint of a grin. Cam shakes his head; he's right less often than he wants to be and more often than he'd like. But Sheppard's look grows faintly repulsed, disapproving, and Cam's fists unclench. "I can't stand women like that." And that's when Cam knows that Sheppard gets it too.
Sheppard is talking about Ferris wheels and when Cam kisses him he half-expects to taste stale cotton candy in that clever mouth. Sheppard smiles against his lips as if he knew Cam would do this, as if he's simply been waiting; and it's this smug confidence that gives Cam a reason to push in with his tongue, to move his hands to Sheppard's waist. Sheppard sucks him and brings himself off, leaving trails of white on the back of the jumper.
It happens twice more outside of the city, parked and cloaked on the mainland, cruising at an altitude that makes Cam's ears pop. Sheppard's damn beautiful when he comes, lashes trembling with ecstasy, sarcastic mouth inarticulate for once, and Cam wonders how he was ever able to stop himself in the first place.
And when they step off the jumper reeking of sex, lips bruised from kissing, not even the mousy-haired physicist in the jumper bay gives them any kind of glance besides the one that says, What took you so fucking long, it's nothing to be ashamed of.
And Cam thinks that's it, already—just a few lapses in self-control and his life will return to normal, or at least as normal as it might ever be, and Sheppard will forget the sound of his breathing just like Cam will forget the feel of Sheppard's skin. But apparently he's wrong about that, too, just like he's been wrong about damn near everything about that man; for Sheppard overrides the privacy lock of Cam's door that night (it's something that Cam would never get used to, living on Atlantis, in a city that plays favorites and misses its people and breathes) and breezes in with a bag of popcorn and a VHS.
"Playoffs, 1975," Sheppard offers by way of explanation, popping the tape into the VCR that Cam didn't realize he had. Cam hasn't watched football with another guy for a long time—Sam appreciates it well enough, but getting Jackson to watch sports is like trying to get his pappy off the couch at Thanksgiving dinner, and there aren't enough guns in football for Teal'c to enjoy it—and soon enough they're shouting and cheering at the screen as if they've been good friends forever, and only good friends, and Cam forgets for a while what happened just the day before.
With three minutes left on the clock Sheppard scoots his hand over too much and smashes his knuckles into Cam's fingers. "Damn," says Sheppard, "I'm sorry."
"It's fine," Cam protests, but Sheppard covers the hand with his palm and rubs gently, apologizing with the subtle pressure of his thumb, the way his eyes flicker from the screen and almost miss the Hail Mary that might be, against all odds, their own private miracle.
Cam walks into the mess on Tuesday and realizes, as everyone turns to stare at him, that he's still a stranger in this city. Just because Atlantis' favorite son likes him, of all people, doesn't mean that the rest of her children accept him. He's gotten strange looks from some of the Marines and a couple of the chemists, scrutinizing him, finding his flaws, telling him quietly that he's not welcome in their home.
He's looking around the room, tray in hand, when a woman calls his name. "Have a seat," she says kindly, motioning to the table; Cam doesn't recognize her, but she holds herself with purpose and confidence, and he gladly accepts the space.
"Thank you, ma'am," he says, pushing up his sleeves. "For a second I thought I'd have to take this all the way back to my room. I'd look a little silly walkin' through the hall with this."
She laughs. "It's no problem at all. I'm Dr. Heightmeyer," she replies. She looks a little like the girl he dated his senior year: pleasant face, soft voice, great smile. "You can call me Kate if you'd like."
"All right," says Cam, taking her outstretched hand. He takes a bite or two of his Jello (the water on Atlantis is 57% purer than the water on Earth, but everything tastes just a little bit off), swallows, and grins at her.
"How is Atlantis treating you?" she asks, and she really means it: if the water's hot enough to shower, if the doors open when they're supposed to, if the city approves of him.
Cam nods a little as he chews. "She's a hell of a city, Kate."
"She is," says Kate. She makes a thoughtful sound, and for the first time Cam notices that there isn't a plate in front of her. "How about the rest of us?" Cam stops to look at her, and somehow he can tell from her face that she knows, however she might have found out, and she's waiting for him to talk about it. He's not sure what she wants him to say, so he says nothing.
Kate smiles gently. "Don't worry, Colonel, I couldn't tell anyone if I wanted to."
"He told you," Cam says in faint shock. "He told you."
Kate doesn't respond to this right away; she just looks at him, long and hard, not the piercing stare of a XO or the clinical gaze of a scientist, but the kind, kind look of a friend.
"Colonel Sheppard hasn't come to a single session since this expedition began," she says, turning the salt-shaker around in her hands. "He came in yesterday and sat down—he didn't say very much, but he said something, and that's one something that he doesn't have to keep to himself anymore."
Cam can only stare at her, sweaty-palmed, tater tots forgotten. He's got this feeling in the back of his mind that this might be something more, something greater and grander than what he'd even thought to imagine.
"I'm grateful to you, Colonel," Kate says, pushing back her chair, and Cam rises out of habit. "If there's nothing else you do in your time here, it's enough."
"Thank you," says Cam, and he means it.
(Sheppard says, "You should stay for a while, you know."
Cam laughs, looking up at the darkened ceiling. "Oh, come on, Sheppard, you don't honestly think that—"
"No." Sheppard's breathing almost stops. "I don't honestly think anything.")
Cam can only stall so long, drilling some of the scientists, using the temperamental Ancient oven to bake macaroons, before it's painfully obvious they've overstayed. He packs up his temporary quarters and joins the rest of them on the Gate ramp, commanding Vala to turn out her pockets and returning more than ten pounds worth of jewelry and naqadah to their rightful owners. Sam and McKay are having a secret conference off to the side; her body language is neither annoyed nor irritated, and Cam swears that when she turns back from the gate she's got a wistful look in her eyes.
Cam lingers longer than everyone, shaking hands with Weir and bowing to Emmagan, acknowledging Dex with a quick nod. He proffers his hand to McKay, but apparently the incident aboard the Odyssey is still lemony-fresh in his mind; he refuses it and stomps off, muttering something under his breath about important experiments you couldn't even begin to understand.
Sheppard smiles at this. "That's McKay for you," he says, shaking his head a little, and Cam wonders not for the first time if McKay has more to do with the situation than he thinks. "Colonel," Sheppard says, saluting, and Cam salutes back. "It wasn't just—" Sheppard forces out. "It was more."
Cam's spent years behind a desk at the Academy, flying in the air, following rules and regulations to the letter; but every cell in his body is screaming for him to reach out and kiss Sheppard, lay him out on the Gate ramp, run his fingers over the scars on Sheppard's body he knows are mirrored on his own. But if there's one thing everyone in this room understands, it's don't ask, don't tell, and there are some things Cam's still not brave enough to do.
Cam swallows past the lump in his throat and touches Sheppard's shoulder, the closest they will get to an embrace. "I know," he says quietly. Sheppard's eyes dart to where Cam's hand is resting, just covering the American patch on his arm. He could come back, of course, but he's got the Ori and Atlantis has the Wraith, and it's a sacrifice neither of them can afford to make.
"Good luck," says Sheppard. He raises his eyes to Cam's once more, and Cam steps through the Gate, leaving the city and all its beauty behind.